


take you down

by magnificentbirb



Series: we keep going on [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, Implied/Referenced Abuse, It's an AU in an AU, M/M, Possibly So Slow That They're Still Burning By The End, Slow Burn, That's right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-21 13:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20694260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb
Summary: Wooyoung gets a new bodyguard, and he's none too pleased about it.At least, not at first.





	take you down

**Author's Note:**

> did i basically shove a bodyguard AU into an existing space pirates AU? yes. yes, i did.
> 
> this is a prequel to "so we can go together," but it can also be read on its own, if that's what you'd prefer.
> 
> the abuse is only shown as aftermath; nothing direct. if you're concerned, feel free to reach out, and i can tell you which section to avoid!
> 
> title from "Promise."
> 
> enjoy~!

The first time Wooyoung saw San, he was extremely unhappy to see him.

“Who’s this?” he asked, jerking his chin rudely at the handsome young man standing beside his grandfather. The young man showed no reaction to Wooyoung’s poor manners, keeping his head down and hands folded in front of him.

“His name is Choi San,” said Wooyoung’s grandfather, clapping a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. “He’ll be your bodyguard, effective today, since I apparently can’t trust you to take care of yourself anymore.”

Wooyoung automatically touched his tongue gently to the split in his lip, fresh from the fight he’d gotten into at a Venusian club two nights ago. (_Or was it three…? He had trouble keeping track nowadays._)

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” Wooyoung said. “I don’t need you to assign me some random bodyguard who’s just going to end up reporting my every move to you.”

“This isn’t a request.” Wooyoung’s grandfather scowled at him, and Wooyoung tensed; he recognized that look. It was the look his grandfather got every time he was getting close to smacking some sense into Wooyoung, which happened more and more often now that Wooyoung’s grandmother—always his stolid protector—was no longer alive. “There have been rumors that our competitors are out to destroy my legacy, and that means _you_ need to be careful. San will be with you from now on. His job is to keep you safe, not to report to me.”

Wooyoung scoffed. “Yeah, that sounds likely.”

“Whether or not you believe me,” said Wooyoung’s grandfather coolly, “you’ll have to deal with him. I’ve bought his contract through the next six months. Now…” He shoved San forward, none too gently. San barely reacted, aside from a single affronted glance out of the corner of his eye, so quick that Wooyoung wondered whether he’d imagined it. “You should greet each other properly.”

San bowed low before Wooyoung, dark hair falling into his eyes.

“I look forward to working for you, Master Jung,” San said, his voice softer than Wooyoung expected, polite and distant.

Wooyoung said nothing in return, instead choosing to turn away, sharply aware of how much his insolence would displease his grandfather.

“I have a luncheon to get to,” he said vaguely, already walking away, and it wasn’t until he was nearly at the front door that he realized Choi San was following him. The young man somehow managed to slip ahead of him, graceful and oddly quiet, and open the door for him, inclining his head politely.

Wooyoung stared at him, unsure whether he should be taking out his irritation at his grandfather on this young man, or whether it was better to just try to ignore him.

“Thanks,” he muttered, deciding reluctantly that it probably wasn’t the bodyguard’s fault that Wooyoung’s grandfather was a manipulative asshole, and Choi San smiled slightly, his head still lowered.

Wooyoung stepped past him, out into the cool Martian air, dim sunlight gleaming down through the dome that covered his grandparents’ estate.

Choi San had dimples when he smiled. 

*

The crickets were the strangest thing, Wooyoung thought. Why did the settlers from Earth A decide that they needed to bring crickets with them when they colonized Mars? Did they really think they’d miss the nightly chirping enough to deem crickets a necessity for their new colony? Or did the crickets stow away on their own somehow, silent and waiting in the great freighter ships until the domes finally went up and the air became breathable and plants finally began to grow?

These were the thoughts that ran through Wooyoung’s head as he lay sleepless in bed, staring up into the darkness at his ceiling fan, spinning in a lazy rhythm, just enough to make Wooyoung’s skin prickle with a chill. Crickets sang outside his window, and Wooyoung wondered vaguely what generation they were. How many crickets had died since their ancestors first hopped onto Martian soil? Thousands? Millions? How long did crickets live, anyway?

Wooyoung rolled onto his side, staring at the dim glowing numbers on his nightstand. Just past three in the morning, then. Only about four more hours to go until he could get up and pretend he’d had a normal night of sleep.

Wooyoung’s grandmother would have scolded him. 

“_You’ll miss all that sleep when you’re old and can’t sleep anymore_,” she’d told him countless times before, whenever he’d skip out on a nap as a child, or wake her up at dawn so they could watch the hazy red sunrise together. Wooyoung had ignored her warnings—_who had time for sleep, anyway?_—and now it seemed he was cursed to never sleep again.

But there was no one to scold him now. He still had servants here, sure, and his grandfather, but in the months since her death, he’d never felt so alone.

After a few more moments of glowering darkly at the clock, he blew out a heavy breath and slid out of bed. Might as well get a glass of water to pass the time.

His bedroom door slid open with a quiet hiss, and he padded through the silent halls towards the kitchen, accompanied by the quiet flicker of motion sensor floor lights.

A light was on in the kitchen.

Wooyoung paused at the threshold; his grandfather wasn’t known for nightly wanderings, but there was no way Wooyoung wanted to risk an encounter with him unless he truly had to. Slowly, Wooyoung peered around the doorway, and saw that it was not his grandfather seated at the marble high-top counter (_thank god_), but Choi San, clad in sweatpants and a dark t-shirt. His hair was mussed, and his hands were curled around a half-drunk glass of water; he looked like he was still mostly asleep.

Wooyoung didn’t think he made any noise, but San twitched slightly and turned to meet Wooyoung’s gaze. His eyes widened a bit when he caught sight of Wooyoung peeking around the doorway, and he hopped to his feet, clearly embarrassed.

“Master Jung,” he said, his voice a bit rough. “Do you—do you need something?”

“At ease,” Wooyoung drawled as he entered the kitchen, forcing his voice to be casual. “I just came for some water.” 

It was odd, seeing Choi San in anything other than a sleek black uniform; Wooyoung had known the young man for almost three weeks now and had never seen him with a single hair out of place. Catching him like this—sleep-rumpled and slippered and clearly still drowsy—was… unexpected, and a bit disconcerting. Wooyoung didn’t want to see this young man as a human. He wanted to see him as a machine, a vague annoyance to be kept at a distance until his six-month contract was up.

It was easier that way. No connection, no feelings. Just business, forced upon them both by Wooyoung’s grandfather.

“Can’t sleep?” San said. Wooyoung glanced at him; the young man’s brow was furrowed slightly, as though the thought of Wooyoung not sleeping caused him some distress.

“Nah,” Wooyoung said, setting a glass beneath the auto-filler attached to the gleaming refrigerator. He watched the water trickle into the glass, stopping just before the rim as the fridge let out a self-satisfied little jingle. “It’s nothing new.”

“Oh.” San’s voice was soft. Wooyoung refused to look at him again; he couldn’t bear to see anything like pity in his eyes. Instead, he downed his glass of water, ready to book it out of the kitchen and back into the private darkness of his bedroom.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Wooyoung froze, glass still raised to his lips. The question was quiet and terribly genuine. A quick glance at San revealed no pity in his gaze, either; just sleepy concern. Wooyoung wondered whether San would remember this in the morning, whether he’d be embarrassed by it once he was more awake.

Wooyoung forced a rakish smile and swigged the last of his water, setting the glass down with a crack on the marble countertop. San winced slightly at the sound.

“Good night, Choi San,” Wooyoung said, and he left without another word, San inclining his head respectfully to his retreating back.

Wooyoung’s heart was beating hard by the time he made it back to his bedroom. He flopped face-first onto his bed, squeezing his eyes shut, and all he heard echoing in his ears over the chirping of crickets was: 

_Is there anything I can do to help?_

_No_, Wooyoung thought. _No, there’s nothing you can do, because you shouldn’t be worrying about me, because your contract is up in five months, so I can’t like you, because I refuse to get attached to anyone else who will just end up leaving me in the end._

Choi San was just a temporary nuisance. A tool, gifted to him by his grandfather, to keep Wooyoung safe for a few months until his grandfather grew bored of paying the man and realized that he actually didn’t give two shits about Wooyoung’s safety, so why the hell would he need a bodyguard, anyway?

So no, there was nothing to be done. Wooyoung would continue to keep the bodyguard at a distance. It was simpler, that way.

Loneliness was easier.

*

Wooyoung staggered into the bar’s dingy little bathroom, slamming the door open so hard that it cracked deafeningly against the wall. He braced himself against the dirty chrome sink, head hanging low, shoulders high and tense. Booze and adrenaline raced through his veins, and he stared into the mirror through his hair, keeping an eye on the door behind him, waiting.

“And three… two… one…” he muttered, and then the door opened again, more gently this time, and a seething Choi San entered the bathroom.

“That,” San said, closing the bathroom door behind him and turning the lock with a decisive click that made Wooyoung flinch slightly, “was not the brightest thing you’ve ever done.”

“How’d’you know the brightest thing I’ve ever done?” Wooyoung slurred with a glare. “We met like two months ago.”

“Call it an informed guess.” San’s eyes were sharp and far too sober as they met Wooyoung’s in the mirror. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung spat. “He barely touched me, you were too—”

_Too fast? Too strong? Too good?_

Each of the possibilities died in Wooyoung’s throat, and he pressed his lips together, refusing to finish the thought. His eyes flicked briefly to San’s right hand, the blood on his knuckles, not his own.

“Is he gone?” Wooyoung asked, meeting his own eyes again in the mirror. His vision was a bit blurry, but he could still see the smudged eyeliner along his lash line, blending morbidly with the shadows beneath his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a full night’s sleep.

“The bouncers saw him out,” San said. “We shouldn’t have any problems. Witnesses saw him swing first.”

Wooyoung’s knuckles turned white around the chrome edges of the sink.

“... Good,” he muttered. 

“Master Jung,” San said, and his voice was soft again, full of polite deference and patience and something gentler, something Wooyoung thought might be concern, but that was insane—Choi San was his grandfather’s man, had to be, he couldn’t possibly care about Wooyoung any more than Wooyoung’s grandfather did. “May I ask,” San continued, slowly, “why you provoked that man?”

_Because it was easy_, Wooyoung wanted to say. _Because he was drunk and dumb. Because he was there._

“He insulted my outfit,” Wooyoung lied, lifting a hand to adjust his jacket, shimmering black and perfectly tailored and far too expensive. The collar was a bit stretched out now, after being snagged by the hamfisted drunk man, but that was fine. Wooyoung could just toss it later.

“Master Jung.” San sounded disappointed, but his tone made it clear that he was disappointed in Wooyoung’s lie rather than in Wooyoung actually provoking a giant drunk man over something as petty as a slight to his fashion sense. The tone reminded Wooyoung of his grandmother.

He couldn’t allow his mind to go there.

“I’m leaving,” Wooyoung said, shoving himself away from the sink. He ran a hand through his hair, shoving it away from his face, and let out a deep breath, still staring at himself in the mirror. He looked like a drunken wreck. 

Good enough.

He shoved past San on his way out of the bathroom, perhaps a bit more roughly than he should have, but San just let him pass, swaying out of his way before following him back into the bar and towards the door.

The ride home was dark and silent, San driving the hovercar, Wooyoung sprawled in the back. Wooyoung’s eyes remained glued to the blood on San’s knuckles, drying black against pale skin.

It bothered him, and he didn’t think he wanted to know why.

*

“Hey,” Wooyoung drawled, flapping a hand in the air from his position sprawled on the mansion roof, “you found me!”

San stood above him, frowning down at him. Wooyoung couldn’t tell whether it was a frown of irritation or disappointment or what, since he was pretty damn drunk, so instead he decided to concentrate on the bizarre warmth that bloomed in his chest as soon as San appeared. Why the fuck that was happening, he had no idea, but Wooyoung beamed up at his bodyguard anyway, unapologetic and full of whiskey.

“You’re not that hard to find,” San said quietly. “Are you all right?”

Wooyong scoffed, waving a hand. “Pssh, this?” He gestured at his swollen left eye, which he realized was still dully throbbing. That was fucking annoying. “This is nothing. I’ll be fine.”

San didn’t respond. He lowered himself gracefully to the rooftop beside Wooyoung, forcing Wooyoung to turn his head to keep him in his sight (_and oh how drunken Wooyoung wanted to keep Choi San in his sight_). 

“Here.” San held out an ice pack. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Oh.” Wooyoung took the ice pack and pressed it gingerly to his eye, wincing at the sudden cold. “Thanks.”

They stayed quiet for a few moments, Wooyoung shifting his gaze periodically from San’s pensive profile to the dim stars shining outside of the Martian dome. He reached once for the mostly empty whiskey bottle at his side, but San slid it deftly just out of reach. Before Wooyoung could whine at him, though, San finally spoke.

“Does this happen often?” he asked. He glanced down at Wooyoung’s bruised face, his jaw clenched. “Your grandfather… striking you. Is it common?”

Wooyoung stared at San for a moment, and then up into the sky. His fingers clenched around the ice pack pressed to his face. 

“It’s happened before,” he said, deliberately elusive. 

San lowered his head. Wooyoung saw his hands tighten into fists against his thighs, but only briefly; then he was calm again, the professional bodyguard through and through.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” San said, “but why—?”

“My grandmother died a year ago today.”

San froze, staring straight ahead. Wooyoung continued without looking at him.

“I, ah… _borrowed_ a company hovercar earlier so I could drive out to visit her grave,” he said. “I might’ve already been a bit drunk at the time. The car didn’t exactly make it back in mint condition, and my grandfather was… displeased.” Wooyoung smirked, his stomach churning. “Said I was dishonoring her memory by going on a joy ride, or some shit like that. Whatever.” He shrugged, an awkward movement while lying flat on his back. “Displeasure noted, gramps.”

“I’m sorry,” San said, his voice so quiet that Wooyoung almost didn’t hear him.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” San said, a bit louder this time.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wooyoung said. “You work for my grandfather, you wouldn’t have been able to do anything anyway without getting fired. It doesn’t mat—”

“You’re wrong.” San’s voice was fiercer now, almost angry. “I don’t work for him.” He looked down at Wooyoung, dark eyes gleaming in the dull glow from the house lights below. “He hired me to be _your_ bodyguard. I work for you. And I should’ve been there, so I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung stared at him—at this young man he’d known for barely four months, who was insisting ever so earnestly that he was firmly on Wooyoung’s side—and he believed him. Wooyoung’s heart thudded double-time in his chest, a product of whiskey and grief and whatever emotion was currently clawing up his throat, making it hard for him to breathe.

“... Oh,” he choked out eventually. “That’s… it’s okay.”

“It’s not, really,” San said. His lips quirked into a humorless smile, and there, right there, were those dimples again, and Wooyoung found himself unintentionally reaching out. San caught his hand before his fingers could even make contact with San’s face (_which was probably for the best at that point, wasn’t it, Mr. I-Basically-Drank-A-Full-Bottle-Of-Whiskey?_), and although San lowered Wooyoung’s hand so that it rested on San’s thigh rather than his cheek, he didn’t let go, instead squeezing Wooyoung’s hand tightly.

“There won’t be a next time,” San said quietly. “I won’t let him touch you again. Okay?”

Wooyoung almost laughed at that, because how the hell could he believe that this beautiful young man he barely knew would be able to defend him from the grandfather who’d been menacing him since before he could even remember? But it was a kind offer, and Wooyoung was drunk and lonely and more than a little drowsy, so he just nodded.

“Okay,” he muttered, and rolled clumsily towards San, until he was pressed up against him, his face hidden against San’s left hip. He looped his arm over San’s lap so he was hugging his waist (_how the fuck does he have such a tiny waist, wait, no, Wooyoung, don’t think about that_) and closed his eyes with a sigh.

“Master Jung?” San’s voice was soft. Wooyoung hummed in response and felt a hand on his head, fingers threading gently, hesitantly, through his hair.

He fell asleep soon after.

*

The first time San ever called Wooyoung by his given name was two seconds before he took a bullet for him.

They were at a shuttle port, waiting for a ship to take them to one of the GU satellites orbiting Mars so that Wooyoung could renew his Martian passport, when San suddenly caught sight of something on a higher level and yelled, “WOOYOUNG!”

Before Wooyoung could even turn to see what was wrong, a shot cracked through the shuttle port, San tackled Wooyoung to the ground, and people started screaming and running.

“S-San?” Wooyoung rasped, trying to turn over, but San was still on top of him, and, terrifyingly, he wasn’t moving. “San?” Wooyoung said, again, panic starting to claw its way up his throat. “San, answer me!”

San jerked suddenly, drawing in a ragged breath that set him coughing. He rolled off of Wooyoung with a groan, ending up on his back on the floor. Wooyoung hurried to his side on his hands and knees, one hand automatically going to San’s chest, searching for a wound, for blood, for anything he could do to help.

“‘M’fine,” San muttered, drawing in another pained gasp. His hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, tearing apart the top few to reveal sleek black fabric underneath. “Vest. Caught it on the vest.”

“Holy shit.” Wooyoung let out a shaky breath, briefly lowering his head to rest on San’s chest, relief flooding over him. 

“Gotta move,” San said through gritted teeth, already sitting up with a wince. He locked a hand around Wooyoung’s elbow and tugged them both to their feet, dragging Wooyoung out of the open and behind a nearby bank of gleaming ticket kiosks, each of which was still chiming merrily, prompting the fleeing customers to purchase their tickets.

“What the hell was that?” Wooyoung breathed, slumping against the back of a kiosk. “Who the fuck uses lead bullets anymore? Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” San said, but he was holding himself gingerly, clearly in pain. “Just got the wind knocked out of me. What about you? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“No,” Wooyoung said, quietly, staring at San with a strange warmth bubbling in his chest. _He’s just a tool, Wooyoung_, he told himself. _He doesn’t care about you. He’s getting paid for this._ “No, I’m fine, thank—thank you.” 

San met his gaze for a moment, and Wooyoung’s breath left his lungs for the second time in as many minutes.

“San,” Wooyoung said, not sure what he meant to say, or maybe he just wanted to say San’s name.

“I have to catch whoever that was,” San said, already moving past Wooyoung, but Wooyoung, in a sudden panic, grabbed his arm before he could pass.

“Wait,” Wooyoung said. “Please, just…”

San’s eyes were sympathetic when they met his, soft and pained in a way that made Wooyoung’s throat clench.

“Be careful,” Wooyoung said, his voice rough, and he was slightly terrified to realize that he meant it; he shoved that emotion down. “Please.”

San gripped Wooyoung’s shoulder, squeezing tight. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

His hand trailed down Wooyoung’s arm as he stepped past him, and their fingers caught briefly before he walked away. Wooyoung let out a shaky breath.

_Not good_, he thought, pressing a hand to his racing heart. _Not good, not good, not good._

*

“Take a look at these applications.”

A tablet clattered onto the kitchen counter beside Wooyoung’s hand. Wooyoung glanced at it before even meaning to, only to find a broad-shouldered Terran’s mug shot glaring up at him from the screen.

“What’s this?” he asked, slathering more butter on his toast.

“Candidates for your new bodyguard,” Wooyoung’s grandfather said.

Wooyoung froze. He glanced at his grandfather, who was watching him carefully, a glass of bourbon in one hand.

“What are you talking about?” Wooyoung asked, keeping his voice as level as possible. 

“It’s been almost six months.” Wooyoung’s grandfather swirled his drink. “Choi San’s contract will be up in a couple of weeks. You’ll need another man, since apparently people are out to kill my heir.”

Wooyoung stared down at the toast on his plate, his heart hammering in his chest.

“We can extend his contract,” Wooyoung said. He hoped he didn’t sound desperate. “He can sign on for longer, I’ll talk to him—”

“He already has another job lined up.” His grandfather sounded almost amused; Wooyoung refused to look at him, refused to see the satisfied smirk on his face. “He’ll be gone in two weeks.”

Wooyoung’s hands slowly curled into fists on the counter.

“I’ll offer him more money,” he said, quietly, and he knew, he _knew_, that now he sounded desperate, that his grandfather would use this against him somehow, but he couldn’t—San couldn’t—he couldn’t just _leave_—

“I don’t trust him.” His grandfather’s voice turned sharp. “I suspect he’s plotting something against us, and he has you completely fooled. He won’t work here once his contract is up, and that’s final.”

Wooyong shoved away from the counter. “You can’t just—”

“I can do whatever I damn well please,” roared Wooyoung’s grandfather, so loud that Wooyoung couldn’t help but flinch. His grandfather jabbed a thick finger at Wooyoung, glaring. “And you will never see that man again. If I catch him on my property for a single second after his contract is up, I will kill him. Do you understand me?”

Wooyoung stared at his grandfather in horror, chest heaving, heart throbbing in his temples.

_I will kill him._

Wooyoung’s grandfather downed the rest of his bourbon and slammed the glass onto the countertop so hard that it cracked down the side.

“Choose one,” his grandfather said, pointing at the tablet on the counter. “Or I will.”

And then he stormed out, leaving Wooyoung staring after him in livid, helpless silence.

*

San caught Wooyoung in the garage one week before his contract was set to expire.

“I need to talk to you,” San said, dragging him out the back door and into the yard, and Wooyoung went with him, because of course he did. There was nothing else he could do. He’d been in a daze ever since his grandfather had told him San was leaving, so when Choi San wanted him to go somewhere, hell, he might as well go.

“I’m not a bodyguard,” San said without preamble as soon as the two of them were alone, hidden among Wooyoung’s grandmother’s flowers.

“You’re not—” Wooyoung broke off, his mind racing to catch up. “Wait, what?”

San’s expression was pained. “I’m a conman,” he said. “I set this whole contract up so I could steal from your family and get away clean after a few months.” He hesitated, then added, quickly, “I’m sorry.”

“Wait, so… you were never a bodyguard?” Wooyoun said slowly.

“I mean, I was, for a while, because I did actually _guard_ you, but… yeah, no.” San paused again, and then added another, “Sorry.”

“You’re a criminal.”

“I prefer conman, but… yeah.”

“But you… you took a bullet for me,” Wooyoung said, because that was important, right? A conman wouldn’t do that…

San’s gaze flickered briefly to the side. “Yeah, well. I was wearing a vest and you weren’t. I wasn’t just going to let you get shot.”

“But you could’ve.”

“And I didn’t.”

Wooyoung stared at him, at this young man who came into his life to rob him and instead ended up saving his life. He knew he should be angry, knew he should rage about being betrayed and threaten to reveal San’s secret, but instead he was just… sad.

“Why are you telling me this?” Wooyoung asked. His voice sounded small. He wished his voice wasn’t small.

“Because I didn’t want to lie to you anymore,” San said. “Especially not when I have to leave in a few days. I just… I wanted you to know.”

Wooyoung let out a shaky breath, staring up on at the sky. Well, staring up at the dome between him and the sky. It really was an ugly thing, all wavy and distorted in places. It was one of the first ever erected on Mars. His grandfather was proud of it. Wooyoung wanted to see it burn.

“What was your plan?” he asked, still staring at the dome, because he didn’t quite trust himself to look at San just yet. “How were you going to rob us and all that?” 

“Oh,” San breathed. He sounded thrown, possibly for the first time since Wooyoung had met him. It was strange. It made him seem almost vulnerable. Human. “Well… I was going to kidnap you, and then hold you for ransom until your grandfather paid me as many millions of credits as I could squeeze out of him, and then I’d let you go and bolt before anyone could catch me.”

Wooyoung sighed, ran his hands over his face. 

“Kidnapping,” he muttered.

“Yeah… sorry,” San said yet again, and Wooyoung almost wanted to yell at him for apologizing so damn much, because he oddly didn’t blame him for anything—San had done his job, in the end, and done it _well_—but his head was whirling and he just kept thinking about getting kidnapped by Choi San and how honestly that didn’t even sound that bad, compared to staying here for years on end, and—

_Wait._

“Do it,” Wooyoung said suddenly, half in a daze.

“... What?”

“Kidnap me.” Wooyoung’s voice was firmer now, because yes, okay, maybe… maybe they could do this. Maybe he could do this. “Just… Go through with the plan. Kidnap me to get the ransom money from my grandfather and then we can just…” Wooyoung hesitated, unsure whether San’s feelings matched his own, but eventually he decided, what the hell, San was leaving in a week, anyway, and if he wasn’t going to be bold now, when would he ever? So he continued: “We can maybe just… go away together, or something. If—if that’s all right with you, of course.”

“I—of course it would be,” San said, eyes wide and startled, “if that’s what you want.” And Wooyoung’s entire heart swelled, because _holy shit, really?_ “But… are you sure? I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but… will your grandfather even pay? You two don’t exactly seem close…”

“He’ll pay,” Wooyoung said firmly. “He’d rather pay to keep me in the family where he can control me and groom me into his heir than deal with the repercussions of stockholders realizing that I’ve been kidnapped or killed. Hence his recent determination to hire me a bodyguard.”

“And you… you’d be okay leaving with a conman?” San asked. “I’m not exactly offering a super stable life—”

Wooyoung met San’s gaze, saw the vulnerability in his eyes, but also a shimmer of wary hope, and that was enough for him to decide.

“Like hell am I staying here when you’re willing to give me an out,” Wooyoung said, heart racing. “I’m coming with you.”

And then San smiled at him, the biggest smile Wooyoung had seen from him yet, all dimples and sunshine and scrunched up eyes, and Wooyoung knew he’d made the right choice.

“Let’s fake a kidnapping, then,” San said.

*

** _Epilogue_ **

“Wow, I had no idea you’d be worth _this_ many credits.”

“That feels insulting somehow.”

“It’s a good thing. We’ll be set for months, with all of this.”

“Do you think they’ll come after us?”

“I’m sure they’re _already_ after us.”

“And that’s normal?”

“It is.” A pause. “Does that bother you?”

“I mean, a little. But not enough for me to want to go back.”

“Good. Because we’re in this together now, partner.”

Wooyoung smiled at that. He watched the streaks of stars outside the cockpit as they tumbled through space at lightspeed (_Wooyoung’s first time, and if it turned his stomach a bit, well, no one had to know_), then glanced at San, seated beside him in the pilot’s seat. Silvery light played in San’s dark hair and limned his handsome profile, and Wooyoung figured he might as well get used to the increasingly familiar warmth that pooled in his chest any time he looked at his partner.

_His partner._

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said, turning away, his cheeks flushed. “Together.”

San smiled back at him, and on they flew.


End file.
